Coffee Break
by Renee6061
Summary: Lois discovers she has something in common with her future father-in-law.


Rating: G

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

Author's note: Missing scene from "Gone." I've been wanting a scene with just Jonathan and Lois, to see how they would get along. If the show won't give me one, I'll just write my own! Thanks to Smallvillian for her help and encouragement.

Coffee Break

Lois froze at the top of the steps, sniffing the air suspiciously. _Why do I smell coffee?_ It made no sense. The house was completely quiet—she hadn't heard a sound since Clark Kent's alarm clock had woken her.

_Must be wishful thinking_, Lois decided as she tiptoed down the stairs. She could definitely use a cup of coffee right now—oh, man, could she use one—but it would have to wait till later. She couldn't risk anyone catching her and wanting to know what she was up to.

She glanced at the sofa as she passed, to see Clark still out like a light. _Perfect. You just stay right there and get your beauty sleep, farmboy. _

Easing the front door open and stepping quietly onto the porch, Lois spotted her car in the yard, right where she'd left it, with everything she'd need already in it. She shut the door quietly, then set off at a run, even though she knew the hard part was behind her now.

She was almost there, when—

"Lois?"

She froze for the second time in five minutes. _Oh, great._ Clark's father. Not her biggest fan, if yesterday's little dustup over the shower incident was a reliable indication—and the very last person she wanted to see her heading off on a grave-robbing mission.

She turned slowly to see him standing a few yards away, arching a quizzical eyebrow. Without his arms crossed, he looked a little less formidable. But he also looked as if he'd like very much to know what she was doing leaving his house at six in the morning.

"Up kind of early, aren't you?" he asked in a tone that was more pleasant than Lois had expected. Not pleasant enough to fool her, though. She knew all about authority figures and how to handle them. Years of dealing with General Sam Lane had taught her exactly where the line was and how close she could get to it without going over.

She instantly put on her brightest smile. "Mr. Kent," she said sweetly. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

He inclined his head back toward the barn he had just come from. "Well, this _is_ a farm," he reminded her. "Cows and chickens wait for no man."

"Yeah," she conceded, "but, you know, after being in the hospital and everything—I thought maybe even a farmer was entitled to sleep in a little."

He ambled closer to her, squinting a little in the early morning light. "After sleeping for an entire summer?" he responded, a bit dryly. "It's lucky I'm not a raging insomniac."

"Hadn't thought of it that way," Lois stalled. He'd stopped within a couple of feet of her, and that inquiring look was much more potent at this range. But she made one more attempt to distract him. "So what's Clark still doing asleep?"

Mr. Kent gave a half-shrug and a small smile. "Clark and early don't go together very well," he explained briefly, as if that were all there was to say about that. "So, what gets you up at this hour?"

Lois took a deep breath and looked at the ground. _All right, here goes_. "Well, I guess you could say sleep isn't my best friend either right now," she said, dropping her voice a notch and making sure to infuse just the right amount of wistfulness into it. Risking a peek upward, she saw that the watchful stare was still trained on her, but the eyes were softening with sympathy. Excellent.

"So—well, I thought I'd go visit Chloe's grave," she finished softly.

Eyes on the ground again, she waited confidently for a kind word or two and a dismissal. All she got was the sleepy chirping of some bird that was insane enough to be up at this hour when it obviously didn't have either a farm or a grave to be concerned about.

The man standing in front of her, by contrast, was quiet just long enough to start an uneasy train of thought in her mind. Could he somehow have seen through her? No, that was nuts. How could anyone possibly suspect that she was on her way to—

"I was just on my way in to see if the coffee was ready." He broke in on her thoughts with an abruptness that made her start. "Could I get you some before you go?"

Her head jerked up, and the look she gave him this time had no calculation in it—just so much longing that she probably looked like a puppy begging for a treat. The sound of the word had made her realize how badly she needed her caffeine fix.

"Um—yeah," she answered haltingly, even as a voice in her mind was screaming at her to turn down the offer and make good her escape. "That would be great."

He nodded and set off briskly, so that she had to break into a rather undignified trot to keep up with him. _Not bad for a guy who was just at death's door_, she thought. They skirted the house and headed for the back.

"Might as well let Clark sleep a little longer," he explained as he opened the kitchen door for her. She gave him a curious sidelong glance—it seemed like an unusual thing for a gung-ho farmer to say, not to mention a strict father. But she didn't bother pressing the point.

He followed her into the kitchen and went around behind the counter while Lois seated herself on a stool. Looking at the coffeepot, she frowned involuntarily at the memory of the last time she'd had a drink from it. Mrs. Kent might be one of the coolest moms around, but in Lois's highly picky opinion, her coffee wasn't worth—well, beans. _Ouch, bad pun, girl. You_ really _need that caffeine._

"Anything wrong?" Mr. Kent asked, glancing up as he switched off the coffeemaker.

Lois jumped slightly. "Oh—no, nothing," she answered quickly. There he went with the quizzical gaze again. Sheesh, no wonder Clark couldn't be around his father for five minutes without spilling his guts about everything he'd ever done.

"I was just thinking—" she heard herself confessing. "I'd give my left earlobe for something really strong from Starbucks right now. You know, the kind of coffee that eats a hole in the lining of your stomach."

One corner of his mouth went up. "Glad to hear it," he said unexpectedly. He pulled open a drawer and took out a couple of potholders. "My wife says I make it like diesel fuel. I've found it's the best way to get Clark moving—once he does wake up. And I've gotten pretty dependent on it myself," he admitted, opening a cabinet and getting out two mugs. "My family's used to it, but we've had guests keel over before."

Lois quirked an eyebrow. Sounded promising, but she still wasn't holding out much hope. What Mrs. Kent considered strong would probably taste like dishwater to her. She watched Mr. Kent reach up into another cabinet for—honey? What did he want with that?

"Like some?" he asked, holding it up.

"What—in the coffee?" Lois blinked. "Um, I've heard of putting a lot of different things in coffee, but that's a new one on me."

"I'll take that as a no. Unless you're feeling adventurous?" he said lightly.

"Not at this hour." She didn't add that she was saving up all her adventurousness for what she had to do at Chloe's grave. That would probably go over about as well as the little jaunt with the helicopter had.

"Milk or sugar, then?"

"Just black is fine."

"If you're sure." He poured some into one of the mugs and handed it to her. "There you go."

"Thanks." She cupped the mug carefully in her hands, blew on the liquid, and took a sip. Then her eyes went wide. "Whoa," she choked.

Mr. Kent looked instantly apologetic. "Sorry—I did try to warn you. . . ."

"No—it's great," Lois cut him off, sputtering only slightly now. She took another, longer swallow and closed her eyes as it burned a path all the way down her esophagus. "_That's_ what I call coffee," she said approvingly, opening her eyes, which were starting to water. "I think you ought to give your wife lessons."

That got a full-blown grin, which brought out a resemblance to his son she hadn't noticed before. "Thanks, but I don't think she'd appreciate the offer. I have to dump about half a pound of sugar in it before she'll even look at it."

Lois shrugged. "No accounting for taste." He was pouring his own coffee now into a large mug with a—Lois leaned closer to make sure of what she was seeing—a little black cow on it. Hastily, she raised her mug again to hide a grin of her own. _Boy, if ever there was a guy that loved his work. . . ._ She took another swallow. She was getting used to the stuff now, though not quite enough to prevent a small cough.

Mr. Kent set the pot back down, stirred some honey into his coffee, then took a healthy swig without batting an eyelash. Lois raised her eyebrows, impressed. "With a system full of this, no wonder you survived a three-month coma," she commented.

Her companion smiled a little, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time. He rested his elbows on the counter, cradling the mug in his hands and staring into its depths as if something in there were utterly fascinating. Lois watched him with an unfamiliar twinge of embarrassment. _Sure, just keep bringing up his poor health. Way to make friends with the guy._ It didn't occur to her to wonder exactly when she had started caring whether she made friends with him or not.

She took another long drink while searching diligently for a way out of the conversational cul-de-sac. "Chloe used to tell me about all the weird stuff in this town," she began cautiously. "I always thought she was exaggerating. Then I get here and see two medical miracles in one family at the same time." She shook her head. "It's enough to make me wish I were a Kent," she added, her trusty flippancy beginning to come back to her. "There must be one killer immune system in those genes."

He looked up and opened his mouth, then closed it again as if thinking better of whatever had been on the tip of his tongue. "I guess so," was all he said. His eyes fell on her almost-empty mug. "Hey, can I get you some more?" There was a shade of relief in his tone at the change of subject.

Again Lois shook her head, regretfully. "I'd love it," she said, completely sincere now, "but I think I'd better be on my way." As he took her mug, she slid off the stool and started for the door.

"Lois?"

"Yeah?" She turned to see him watching her with greater concern than the circumstances seemed to warrant. He hesitated a moment.

"Be careful, okay? After what happened yesterday—well, it seems like someone's not too eager to have people looking into Chloe's death."

Without her fully realizing it, Lois's chin lifted a trifle and her eyes narrowed. She made a sound that could only be described as a snort. "Yeah, well, I don't think anybody's gonna consider one little graveside visit such a huge deal," she retorted, tossing her head.

She fully intended to turn and sweep out, but something in Mr. Kent's expression caught and held her. Or rather, something that wasn't in his expression. He still stood there behind the counter, looking steadily at her. But she didn't see the look her father would have given her at that point—eyes hardening to match her own, mouth set in a tight, angry line.

In this man's face, she saw an understandable puzzlement at her little outburst. But also something else, deeper than that—a sudden look of compassion for a young woman who had lost someone she loved, who was feeling very much alone and had to bluster to hide it.

Lois licked her lips, all at once feeling like nothing more than a foolish little girl. A little girl whose anticipated grand exit now looked like a very bad idea. She looked awkwardly away, then forced herself to look back. She needed to say _something._

"Um—Mr. Kent? Thanks—for the coffee."

Mr. Kent's expression didn't change, but his shoulders appeared to relax, as if tension had gone out of them. He nodded courteously. "Any time." A twinkle came into his eyes. "It's nice to have my diesel fuel appreciated." He lifted the mug he was still holding in a little salute.

Lois smiled—for real this time—before turning to slip out.

The End


End file.
